Listen up, old man! I appreciate you coming back from wherever you've been for the past 2 years to clean up and repair your little hovel of an address. Considering the real estate market these days and what your dump was doing to our property value, no two people could be more pleased by your reappearance than Husband and me. It's fine that you don't acknowledge me when I say "hello" to you and that you have never once thanked us for mowing your front yard during your 2 year hiatus. You're a curmudgeon and I can respect that about you.
BUT, I am getting a little sick of your random home improvement jags that happen to entail a shitload of banging and drilling at exactly the time I am trying to get Ethan down for a nap. Seriously. Can you not do this at a more opportune time? Ethan naps 2 hours out of the day. That gives you a myriad of hours to choose from for your hammering and what I can only assume are small explosives.
I've taken deep breaths and dealt with it up until now, but today you really took it too far. You started your little project (which was apparently trying to bore a hole through the wall and into our house) the moment Ethan closed his sweet little eyes, on his way to dream land and you stopped only moments after I had to run upstairs to console a crying child, and convince him that the big bad noise monster wasn't coming to eat him up.
I cannot fathom how you timed it so perfectly, but I have to assume that aside from being a curmudgeon extraordinaire, you also have some sort of telepathic baby-nap powers and are using them for evil. Jerk.